#17 (420 words)

There was no moon so she couldn’t see him and she closed her eyes so they could adjust so she could see the shape of him.  He scooted in close, licking the lid of her eye.  -Why did you do that and he said he couldn’t see her and thought he was near her mouth.  She wasn’t upset and the feeling was interesting.  No one had ever licked her eye before. 

She said- I like where you were going with that.

She slept in late and alone except there was the dregs of coffee in the coffee pot.  And sticky spots on the kitchen counter around the coffee pot.  And crumbs stuck to the sticky spots and a few ants nibbling on those crumbs.  Only none of them were feeling very conversational.  

She was angry at him for the spots, the crumbs, the ants at the crumbs and not being there so she could tell him she was angry.  And she hated the ants eating the crumbs with their little antennae twitching these and those ways and how they flaunted their fellowship in front of her made her feel lonelier and angrier.

Instead, she took it out on the counter and those ants never had a chance.  If he had been there, he may’ve been scrubbed clean away with the rough side of the sponge.  Her legs quivered just as they had the night before.  Her stomach felt full of germans in pike formation, or a skiff riding a tsunami or curdled milk mixed with sardine smell or like being alone in an elevator.  The air felt awkward and tried to leave her.  Her heart was no longer beating beat by beat but just one long, smooth vibration like the seat of his motorcycle between her thighs when she was straddled behind him and he took her for rides around the lake and how they leaned together into curves and how she wanted nothing more than to put her arms in the air and scream at the top of her lungs- I am going to die!

There were no words she recognized.  A strange tongue.  She sobbed when she told him on the phone that she felt possessed or dispossessed.  She was not there anymore. 

-I was a bird.  Exotic and brightly colored with huge sick-yellow eyes cawing and cackling over my dead body.  Or I was a shooting star a million years gone, eternally hurtling.  Please come over.

And she sat up all night waiting.  Another with no moon.

(Copyright 2011)
the anxiety attack
c A Hughes

~ by c on May 26, 2011.

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